RE I Love You: REvival of Team Light (HD)
by Optimum Ace
Summary: Against all odds, a team of gaming friends once saved the world. Luck is fickle, however, and when darkness returned, the would-be heroes suffered terrible loss. Hurt and disillusioned, the friends disbanded. Now, as the veil between countless worlds continues to thin, catastrophe approaches. Fate beckons to the scattered friends, but will they risk what little they have left?


**Acknowledgements:**

A special thanks goes out to _Nightress5_ for the time and effort they spent in beta reading.

 **Author's note:**

Hello, dear readers, and a warm welcome back to those of you who've followed my work before. I understand that my ideas and conventions are off the beaten path, and they have always been. Not everyone will find this piece to be their cup of tea. With that in mind, I am bringing new writing experience to the table in an attempt to reinvigorate old and unfinished pieces. In the recent years I've made a promise never to leave a piece unfinished again; no matter how difficult or grueling the process, it would be finished. Initially I passed over these works of fanfiction in favor of original pieces. I see now, however, that in order to be true to my writing ideals, I must finish this story.

I could not, however, build on the bones of the old story. I've evolved as a writer, and contact with my former co-author has been nearly nonexistent. So here and now, I bring you a rewritten REILY that is reflective of my changes. This new version will stay true to the spirit of the old: a generous blend of action, comic relief, and drama in the style honed and popularized by eastern animation. I strive not to disappoint you this time, readers, and hope this piece is to your liking.

Without further ado, I present the revitalized first chapter of…

RE: I Love You (HD)  
 _ **RE**_ _vival of Team Light_

 _Chapter 1: The Edge of Derelictio[_ _ **n**_ _]_

A sharp static hiss in his ear was the only report of the bullet that zipped through his skull and killed his SPARTAN avatar. The camera ejected from first person view to look down on the corpse, and AJ could not help but liken it to a cruel out of body experience. It almost felt as if his nose were being rubbed in it.

' _Look,_ ' it seemed to say. ' _Look at what you've done. You've gotten yourself killed and failed your team. This is what happens when you make mistakes.'_ AJ frowned, the insinuation rapidly maturing into belief. If only he'd done better— _played_ better—perhaps his team could have clinched the victory they so desperately needed to stay in the running for semifinals. A dozen, nitpicking little thoughts tumbled around in his skull. The missed opportunities, the maneuvers he should have made, the paths he should have taken, and those he should have avoided played out before him like snippets of film plucked from an ESPN playback of his recollection.

"Game over," the automated announcer said, indifferent to the joy of the victorious and the chagrin of the vanquished. AJ set his xbox controller down on the tabletop of his competition station before pulling the headset from his head. He placed the headset beside the controller and reached up to rub at his eyes. The grit of sleep deprivation scratched at his eyelids as he ground them.

All of this effort and disappointment, and still the real world and the responsibilities that came with it waited just a door away. Months of long, grueling, tedious practice amounted to absolutely nothing, and he was supposed to just go and buy groceries as if he didn't feel utterly gutted by failure? Well, yes, actually; such is life, cold and cruel as she may be at times. If fate did not care about the unfairness of the sick and dying in the dark corners of the world, why then, should it care about this?

"You're supposed to be our _pointman_ ," a stern, female voice said. The sudden interruption pulled AJ back to the surface from his musing. He turned his head just enough to allow his bloodshot hazel eyes to catch a sidelong glimpse of the speaker. Their team leader, Aura, looked about as friendly as a thunderstorm with her arms crossed and brow furrowed. A tight frown curled her lips into sharp little corners that looked surprisingly natural on her face. "Last time I checked," she continued, "the pointman is supposed to rush the spawns, call the enemy positions, and steal the power gear."

"I'm sorry, Aura," AJ said, turning his head away from her again. The tall woman's shadow fell over him as she approached the back of his chair. He sighed deeply, reaching up to thumb the edge of his dog tags where they hid beneath his graphic tee shirt.

"You're _sorry?"_ She scoffed and AJ could perfectly visualize the accompanying eye-roll. "You didn't get a single power weapon from the other team! You didn't even counter the ones they were using!" He watched as her shadow threw its hands up, a whoosh of air passing closely by his ear.

"I scored just as many kills as you guys did," he said, going through the motions of defending himself but lacking any actual conviction. The moment he finished, AJ knew what her response would be.

"Oh my _God_!" she said, fuming and clutching at strands of her hair. "AJ you're the _pointman_. Your job isn't just to kill, or to kill a lot, it's to kill _effectively_. It's to kill the _right_ people, in the _right_ place, at the _right_ time! You used to know that! Hell, you used to be one of the best pointman players in the game! The handle DeadLight used to be right up there with GrippyBot, Slazlo, and PrettyPrettyPink! Hell, you beat _ClaymoarTime_ in the Orlando finals after being down by twelve!" Aura stopped abruptly, clearly waiting for AJ to say something.

What _could_ he say? That maybe Halo had evolved beyond him by this point in his life? That Halo 2 was his prime and that it had been hard enough to transition to Halo 3 and then Reach? That he'd barely even competed in Halo 4 because of how different it all felt? Halo 5 was an entirely different beast than the game AJ started with all those years ago. Maybe he just couldn't keep up anymore. Was it a crime that he didn't think he could admit it to _her_ when he couldn't even admit it to himself? AJ hung his head without a word earning an explosive sigh from Aura.

"Look," she said after a long silence and a deep breath. "The rest of the team is already gone, I'm going too." Aura sounded uncharacteristically even-toned, albeit strained. AJ's gut clenched tightly, knotting over and over as realization of the impending dismissal began to bloom. "I don't," she said, pausing for another moment to gather her gumption. "I don't think you should come with us."

A lump formed in AJ's throat. It wasn't as if he felt particularly close to this team. Why, then, did it feel as if his entrails were being pulled out through his navel? Of course he already knew the answer: he _wanted_ to be close to them. AJ wanted it to be like it had been with Team Light Gaming. Now, it would never get the chance to grow.

Aura's shadow retreated from him, and for a moment he thought she'd walked away without anything else to say. Then her voice reached him one last time, softened by the distance. "Whatever it is you do next, wherever you go, good luck."

-o-

The defeated Major League Gaming pointman stayed in his seat for another ten or so minutes, stewing in his own thoughts while the stormclouds floating above his head darkened. Only when one of the convention staff members tapped him on the shoulder did he stir. Blinking away the dryness in his eyes, he turned his head blearily towards the man.

"Hey, sorry but we have to get this set up for the next event," he said, looking genuinely apologetic. AJ nodded silently before rising from the chair and wandering off towards the convention center's main entrance. The tides of his own depressed thoughts threatened to pull him back out to mental sea while he absent mindedly avoided the passersby.

A teeth-rattling roar of thunder shook him free from his reverie just as he opened the door that led out to the parking lot. Rain poured from the dark gray clouds in thick sheets making it difficult to see more than twenty feet ahead. The noise from the pelting droplets of water rivaled even that of the bellowing thunderclaps.

AJ poked his head out of the door to study the sky and the horizon to his left and right, lip curling in a sneer. The storm stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions—which is to say, not very far. Still, there did not appear to be any evidence that the downpour would relent in the near future.

"Fuckin' fuck," AJ groaned. Screw grocery shopping, he would pick up a few things from a convenience store to tide him over until the weather didn't suck so completely. Besides, there was no way he could escape a thorough dousing on the run to his car.

Pulling up the collar of his jacket, AJ ducked his head and ran out into the storm. He nearly missed the aisle his vehicle was parked in in an attempt to keep his head relatively dry, but he caught it at the last moment thanks to the bright yellow 4 painted on the asphalt underfoot. He veered into the aisle and skirted along the right row of cars until a blurry blob of dull, eggshell white permeated the gloom. At one point the old Jeep Grand Cherokee had been blindingly white, practically glowing in the dark. Those lustrous days had passed, much like those of its owner.

Reaching into his pocket AJ mashed the unlock button on the jeep remote until it responded with an affirmative chirp. Yanking the handle of the passenger-side back door, he threw himself inside and shut the door behind him. Panting, he rolled to lay flat on his back and stared at the ceiling of the jeep. The upholstery beneath his head soaked through in moments, his warhawk haircut doing little to retain the water.

He sat up after catching his breath and reached into the back of his jeep to retrieve his overnight bag. Preparedness had become a ritual for AJ in the years following Team Light's first real adventure. The army taught him that you never knew where you might find yourself or what you might need when you got there—it just seemed smart to keep a change of clothes and some supplies in the truck.

AJ ditched his waterlogged shoes and socks, and with some difficulty he managed to finagle himself out of his wet pants, too. After drying himself off with a towel from the bag, he pulled on a fresh pair of gray jeans, a set of olive green hiking socks, and black work boots. Now at least moderately comfortable, he decided to climb over the center console into the front seat.

His boot laces caught on the center console as he crawled, the sudden jerk when the loop ran out of slack cost him his balance and AJ fell forward, his forehead colliding against the steering wheel with a hollow _thunk_ that shook the whole vehicle.

"Goddammit!" he cursed, righting himself and rubbing at his forehead with his palm. Reaching back, he freed his shoelace from where it snagged—grumbling all the while. Once settled into the driver seat AJ examined his forehead in the rearview mirror for signs of a lump or bruise. Satisfied that the mishap only left him with a quickly fading red mark, he slid the key into the ignition and gave it a twist. The old beast rumbled to life, and AJ clicked his seatbelt in place before guiding it out of the parking lot and onto the road.

AJ fiddled with the radio as he made his way home; looking for something to alleviate the smothering white noise of the rain against his windshield.

"Fate!" The radio exclaimed. "Fate is the invisible hand that guides all things! Can you feel it, brothers and sisters? _You_ are each playing a part in the script of the univer—" AJ tuned the radio away from the station.

"Yeah, ok bud," he said. "Preach after you've seen what _I've_ seen." AJ spammed the seek button until another station came up.

"There is no avoiding it," said a smooth, bassy voice. "It's coming, and no one can stop it. It strikes without warning, and without mercy. This summer, you can't run from it. The biggest Hollywood release since—" again he navigated away from the station; brow furrowed with incredulous distaste.

"Look, Dave, I'm not saying that he _can't_ do that. I'm just saying that each of us, well, each of us has a path to walk, you know?" A rather melodic female voice said. "We can all forge our own path, but we still have to _walk_ down it. Sometimes we cut a path we didn't intend, but it's not like life affords us the time to backtrack. Sure, we can adjust, but at the end of the day we stil—"

"You've gotta be shitting me," AJ grumbled. "What, are there _no_ stations playing music? Christ!" Thoroughly put off, he cranked the volume knob down until it clicked and the radio went silent. However, a pang of unease echoed inside of him.

-o-

AJ parallel parked on the side of a grimy city street and ventured back out into the unrelenting rain. Still far less than pleased to be plodding through the storm, he managed to take some measure of comfort in the dryness his boots provided. Little irked him more than wet socks—or worse yet, _cold_ wet socks.

The number of roped off and boarded up storefronts on the street greatly outnumbered those with lit signs and open doors; their graffitied brick and smashed windows attesting to the rapid deterioration of the neighborhood in recent years. When the steel mill closed, the automotive parts factory followed soon after. The local economy dried up virtually overnight and thousands lost their jobs. The neighborhood never recovered.

A brightly colored, unfamiliar billboard caught AJ's eye. ' _STOP!'_ it read. ' _Are you prepared for YOUR testing season? Don't leave it up to FATE! Bolster your st—'_ He could not read the rest, it had been graffitied over erasing any hope of legibility. A shiver crawled up the his spine; funny, he didn't _feel_ cold.

He passed the billboard and glanced over his shoulder, spotting the advertisement on the other side. ' _It's time to take responsibility. Do your part to save the world we live in!'_ Some eco-green movement PSA, a little picture of the earth surrounded by the recycling symbol in the shape of a shield. AJ shoved his hands deeper into his jacket pockets and opted to keep his head down the rest of the way.

Once outside the nearest minimart, AJ pressed his arm into the push bar without removing his hands from his pocket only to bounce unceremoniously off of the glass. He grunted from the force of his own weight being bounced back at him by the glass-and-metal frame. Looking back over his shoulder to see if anyone had seen his blunder, he waited for the hot redness to fade from his cheeks before leaning forward to study the door. AJ searched for any sticker or indicator that he was supposed to pull instead of push as the bar suggested. It _looked_ like an ordinary push bar and nothing stuck to the glass informed him otherwise.

AJ pulled this time, grumbling under his breath when the door swung open easily. To his frustration he noted that the inside handle of the door resembled a pull handle rather than a push handle. Clearly someone installed it backwards and never cared to rectify it. Briefly he wondered just how many others had smashed their faces on the glass trying to enter.

Once inside he swept his hands through his hair to comb through his rain soaked hair . The cashier looked up from his tablet at the sound of the familiar chime that played whenever a customer entered, a handsome high school aged boy sporting a truly unfortunate pair of tacky, wire-rimmed glasses and some commonplace teenage blemishes.

"Hello," the young man greeted. "Let me know if you need anything." He spoke with a thick accent that AJ pegged as South African thanks to a friend in Johannesburg. The salutation seemed to be genuinely polite as far as the gamer could tell.

"Thanks, I will," AJ replied said, scrounging a smile from the bottom of his emotional barrel to reciprocate. Quickly, he meandered deeper into the minimart to break from the chance of further interaction until checkout.

After a few minutes of slow, whimsical browsing between aisles, AJ found himself staring at the drinks cooler. The meager variety and stock of energy drinks earned a defeated sigh from the caffeine connoisseur. Just about everything good was out of stock, and everything left failed to meet his usual standards. Hell, energy drinks might have been poisonous acid, but dammit if AJ didn't like his poisonous acid to _taste good_.

While mulling over the decision between the ambiguous "original" flavor from some brand he never heard of and the exceptionally bizarre "chocolate-covered strawberries and whipped cream dream" concoction, the front door chime sounded again. Not thinking much of it, AJ continued to hunker on his haunches behind the end-aisle display of promotional potato chips to consider the bottom row of drinks in the cooler.

"A-alright bitch, open the-the _thingy_ and dump all the cash in a bag!" A gravely voice wound tight with nerves alerted AJ to the situation escalating at the front of the store. Staying low, he spun on his heels and realized right away that the robber must not have seen him behind the display of chips.

Peering out from behind his cover, AJ could see the robber standing at the counter in front of the cashier. The gaunt, wiry man appeared very dirty in an extremely ratty gray hoodie and tattered blue track pants. He clutched a snub nose revolver in his clearly shaking right hand, the silver frame faded and scratched in its journey from owner to owner. With his other hand he pawed at his long, mangy beard—apparently trying to wring the excess water from the wild tangles of black and gray.

"Ok! Ok! Please don't shoot! I-I'm going!" The cashier seemed to choke on the lump in his throat, his voice coming out as more of a croak than a plea.

Here, AJ faced a dilemma. The crook clearly had not noticed that another customer occupied the store. If he stayed still and stayed quiet, the whole ordeal might pass without presenting any real risk—to _him_ anyway. On the other hand, it did not take a genius to see desperation in the robber's behavior; he looked homeless and clearly inexperienced with robbing stores. If he didn't feel in control of the situation he might just shoot the cashier.

The gamer clenched his jaw and mentally cursed himself. Creeping over to the next aisle on the left, he positioned himself directly behind the robber. Moving forward in a crouch he quietly scooped a can of Spaghetti-U's from the shelf and clutched it in his right hand. At the front of the store a loud thud and the clatter of change caused AJ's heart to skip a beat.

"Dammit! Pick that shit up, stuff it in the bag!" the robber demanded, leaning over the counter to look at the floor. For a moment AJ could see the cashier's face, pale and contorted in fear at having dropped the register's cash drawer. "Now, bitch! Now!" The robber stuck the gun back in the young man's face.

"I'm sorry! I'm going! Please!" The cashier wailed, dropping to his hands and knees. AJ used the added commotion to make up some of the distance between himself and his target.

Because of the advertisement banners hanging from the ceiling in front of the cashout counter, AJ failed to notice the corner mirror until he crept up just a few feet behind the robber. Unfortunately, both AJ and the robber noticed the reflection at the same time. Their eyes met and time seemed to slow down. He watched the criminal's eyes bulge with a mixture of fear and surprise, straining against their lids to the point of watering. AJ could hear his own breathing loud in his ears, and his thumping heart felt like it might burst in his chest.

The robber began to whirl around with his weapon, yelling incoherently through the panic that thickened his tongue. Improvising, AJ pitched the can of Spaghetti-U's at the man. It tumbled end over end until the rim of the bottom struck the robber's forehead just above his left brow. The impact jerked the robber's head back and sent his arms flailing uselessly.

AJ charged in to close the remaining distance between them and swatted the attacker's gun arm to the side away from himself and the cashier. The robber tensed his grip on the revolver to keep from losing it and pulled the trigger in doing so. The gunshot rang out loudly in the enclosed space sending a bullet into the ceiling tile above the doorway.

Ears ringing, AJ clamped his left hand around the gunman's wrist and attempted to pry the weapon free with his right. The robber's grip was surprisingly strong, and he took the opportunity to throw a punch at AJ's head. Unwilling to relinquish his hold on the gun to defend himself, AJ raised his shoulder and ducked his head; the robber's bony knuckles struck the top of AJ's shoulder instead of his intended target.

AJ twisted twisted his body and threw his weight into another hard yank, finally wrenching the gun free from the robber's hand. Another punch—already incoming by the time AJ spotted it—landed square on his right cheekbone. Stars exploded in AJ's skull and his vision darkened around the edges. Stumbling back, he shook his head to clear the fog that rolled in. Using the space unintentionally created by the robber, he thumbed the latch and pushed the revolver's cylinder out of the frame. Upending the weapon, he pressed the ejector rod and spilled the remaining cartridges onto the floor.

A cursory sweep of his tongue across the inside of his right cheek confirmed that he did indeed taste blood. AJ frowned tightly, nose crinkling. He tossed the revolver aside where it skittered across the tile floor before coming to rest under a display of cracker snack packs. The robber backed away until he bumped against the counter, crazed brown eyes darting from his opponent, to the door, and back.

"Ok," AJ said, voice dripping with calm menace. " _Now_ I'm going to kick your ass." He sprang forward without further warning, lifting his knee and driving it into the robber's upper stomach. The robber doubled over with a gasp as the wind left him, clawing at AJ's legs and shirt in an attempt to restrain him from unleashing another blow. AJ shook him off easily and juked back to avoid the desperate haymaker the robber threw while straightening himself.

As soon as the punch passed him by AJ lunged back in and grappled the robber around his arm, trapping the criminal's dominant limb under his and hooking a fist beneath the robber's underarm. With his free hand AJ pummeled the man's exposed ribs, using his grapple hold to keep the robber from guarding himself.

Unable to turn properly with AJ upsetting his balance so thoroughly, the robber slapped at his assailant's back uselessly in an attempt to get a hold of something—anything—to use as leverage. His clawing fingers eventually found AJ's dog tag chain and yanked. The sharp and sudden strangling sensation forced AJ to relinquish his hold in order to free himself. Taking his opportunity, the robber bolted for the door.

Taking hold of the handle, the criminal pulled helplessly at the door to no avail. AJ issued a low growl before storming up to the frantic robber. He gripped the man by the hood of his ratty hoodie and yanked him backwards. The robber uttered a strangled yelp before AJ spun him around and decked him square in the jaw with a vicious right cross. Dazed, the robber stumbled back a few steps before collapsing against the door.

Swirling red fog consumed AJ's mind, and he stomped towards the fallen robber like a wounded grizzly towards fallen prey. Then he saw the man's face; even swollen and bloodied, AJ could see the fear. Not fear of getting caught, not fear of prison, not fear of pain, but fear of _death_. Laying there on the floor, battered and defeated, the robber truly believed that the broad-shouldered brute bearing down on him intended to end his life.

The red haze receded and AJ's gait slowed to a stop. He could see the image clear in his head—driving his knee into the fallen man's head and smashing it through the thick glass of the door. It turned his stomach to think of killing someone like that, even someone who'd done wrong did not _deserve_ death. AJ's hands had already been irrevocably bloodstained; they did not need a fresh coat for something like _this_.

Having learned from his previous error, the robber scrambled backwards and pushed his back into the door. It swung outward into the stormy gale and the injured man took off as quickly as his battered body could manage. AJ watched him disappear into the rain, fading into first a blur, and then nothingness. He rubbed his eyes warily.

"Are you ok?" the cashier asked. AJ had nearly forgotten about the cashier in the heat of the brawl; funny, given that he had only acted to help the young man in the first place. He forced a puff of air from his nose in a near-chuckle.

"Man, that's supposed to be my line," AJ shook his head. He stuck a finger into his mouth and swabbed the inside of his right cheek, wincing when he found a long gash in the tissue. Pulling his finger out, he examined the diluted crimson on his fingertip before wiping it on his jeans.

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," the cashier replied, though rather unconvincingly. "Not hurt, I mean." The young man corrected himself, looking almost uncomfortable that it might have been dishonest to insinuate that he was _completely_ fine.

"Fair enough," AJ sighed, still not looking at him. Instead he nudged one of the discarded bullets around with the tip of his boot distractedly. "You should, uh, call the cops, at any rate."

"Oh! Of course!" The cashier hurried away into the back office of the minimart, assumedly to call the police.

AJ moved back into the aisles to pluck up a few prepackaged foodstuffs before heading back to the drinks section. He settled on the oddly flavored "chocolate-covered strawberry and whipped cream" energy drink due to being on sale two for three dollars. Gathering four of the cans and cradling them in his arms with the rest of his purchases, he moved back to the front counter where he placed the items down for checkout.

"I called the police, they'll be right over," the cashier said after emerging from the office. He paused and AJ looked up at him to see what the hold up was. The young man looked confused, as if he had suddenly forgotten what to do when someone approached the register. "Are you leaving?"

AJ blinked at him, uncertain for a moment if the question had been rhetorical. When the cashier didn't continue, AJ did: "Er, yeah. I just want to get what I came for, is all." The bizarre exchange made him feel squirmy beneath the skin. What did the guy expect from him? "I don't really _do_ cops. Statements and paperwork and did I do the right thing, blah, blah, yadda, yadda." AJ looked away, gaze coming to rest on the items he set on the counter.

"Oh, I see." It was hard to tell the inflection of the words through his accent, which only made AJ feel less comfortable. The cashier moved to the register and swiftly grabbed, scanned, and bagged all of the provisions AJ had set on the counter. He removed the two plastic bags from their bagging racks and set them on the counter in front of his customer. "There you are, all set."

AJ looked up to the young man's face again, puzzled.

"What's my total?" He asked hesitantly. The cashier shook his head and smiled in what AJ could only describe as a bashful manner.

"I've got you covered," the young man said. "It's the least I can do." AJ found a genuine smile of his own spreading unbidden across his face. A twinge of embarrassment plucked at his stomach, and he reached up to scratch idly at the rugged scruff on his cheek to vent some of it.

"Well, thank you," AJ said finally, finding difficulty in meeting the cashier's grateful gaze.

"No, thank _you_."

Another awkward pause settled between them—or at least it felt awkward to AJ. Unsure of how to continue a relatively normal conversation after such abnormal circumstances, AJ plucked his bags from the counter with one hand and offered a small wave with the other.

"Well, goodbye," AJ said. "I hope everything works out." He turned quickly and headed for the door.

"Oh, bye! Thanks again, so much!" The cashier sounded almost disappointed to be left alone, or maybe nervous? AJ couldn't blame him for not wanting to be alone after being held at gunpoint, but he _really_ did not want to deal with the police. There would be questions, and depending on how far they dug into his background, _more_ questions.

"Wait, what's your name?" The young man called to him just as he opened the door, but AJ pretended not to have heard him over the roaring maelstrom outside. He passed into the rain and let the door shut behind him, immediately grateful for the inclement weather and the solitude it provided.

-o-

AJ arrived home only ten minutes later; pulling up the cracked, uneven driveway the jeep came to a stop right beside the back door. The towering structure adhered to the same architectural style as the rest of the street. "Industrial Vernacular" his father used to call it, also known as a "Buffalo Double" though the style itself existed in most northern mill cities like Pittsburgh, or Chicago. They were simple, spacious homes for large wage worker families that featured a full "house" on the bottom, with a smaller flat on the second floor and a storage floor above that.

Even the thick curtain of precipitation couldn't render the aggressively rectangular structure of the building unrecognizable. The powder blue siding had maintained much of its original luster thanks to AJ's persistent care of the old domicile, allowing it to gleam despite the pitiful level of light the stormclouds permitted as evening inched towards nightfall.

AJ scooped his bags out of the passenger seat and threw the driver side door open. He briefly considered collecting his wet clothes from the back seat, but realized he didn't care enough to do so. Instead, he closed the door behind him with his foot and shoved his house key into the deadbolt lock.

A twist of the wrist drew the deadbolt back and allowed him inside, the heavy oak door creaked inward of its own volition due to its uneven hang on the hinges. AJ closed the door behind him with his boot again, but turned to re-engage the deadbolt before heading into the kitchen. He wiped his boots on the welcome mat and dumped his bags on the kitchen counter.

Every little sound echoed through the open floor plan of the sizable, empty house. AJ plucked up the television remote from the kitchen counter and pointed it over his shoulder. The television popped to life immediately upon thumbing the power button, and the sounds of Central Comedy rolling through the emptiness made the dim home feel a little less dead. Whenever he went out AJ always left the remote on the counter beside the fridge—a safeguard against being alone with himself in silence for too long.

It had not always been this way. Once, he lived with his mother and father in the second floor flat. Uncle Martin lived above them on the renovated storage floor, and his grandma and grandpa lived on the main floor. The whole place had been filled with life. Grandma had kept all sorts of house plants and paintings she'd made by reading old art books. Grandpa had tended a vast garden project in the back yard in his retirement years. Uncle Martin tinkered in his basement workshop when not tending bar overnight at MacOrton's Pub. Mom had usually sat on the front balcony above the porch with a notebook and a pen, forever writing poetry and short works of fiction for magazines and anthologies. Dad worked at the mill, but never lacked the energy to play with AJ when he came home.

The whole house had been vibrant and full of creativity. Wonder and awe were commonplace, from the workings of the natural world to the creation of new, fascinating ones through fiction. AJ smiled sadly at the recollection, having at some point turned unconsciously to study the book spines on the bookshelf just beyond the transition from kitchen to living room. Dozens of anthologies, each featuring some work published by his mother. He remembered helping his parents move the books down to the shelf when they all moved into the main floor.

Grandma had passed away in her sleep when he was ten years old, and grandpa didn't last another full year without her. He grew wary of life, though not unhappy—simply ready for the clearing at the end of the path and a reunion with his wife. Heart failure took him to grandma's side exactly one month before the anniversary of her passing.

Things changed then, but not as severely as the young AJ had expected at the time. The world carried on as it always does when the old breathe their last and make way for the young. His grandparents left the house to his parents on the condition they allowed Uncle Martin to stay. So, AJ and his parents moved into the main floor and Uncle Martin moved into the second floor flat. For a while, things returned to normal—or what passed as normal in the absence of his grandma and grandpa.

AJ crossed the kitchen towards the bookshelf and reached for one of the books, a maroon hardcover with " _Every Memory Me, an Anthology of Reflective Short Stories"_ emblazoned in gold leaf on the spine. He slid it out from the shelf and flipped it open, turning immediately to a photograph tucked between the pages like a bookmark. Plucking the photograph from the book, he placed the anthology back in its original place on the shelf.

He carried the photo over to the couch and sat down heavily on the leftmost side before kicking his feet up onto the ring-marked coffee table. He raised the picture to eye level and studied the grinning faces looking back at him. Back then they'd been the "new and improved" Team Light after their first adventure into the unknown. What started as a group of geeky gaming pals trying to be the best became so much more after their unwitting stumble into the true nature of the universe.

AJ scanned over each of their faces, dirty, bloodied, and battered, yet grinning and luminescent with a high from their victory the likes of which he doubted they'd ever feel again.

At the leftmost edge of their huddle stood Ben, the leader of their team and founder of Team Light. At six feet and three inches he towered over all of the others easily, though his slim structure and long limbs gave him a sort of disarming, lanky appearance. A shaggy mop of wavy, chestnut hair near-completely obscured his full-rim glasses and the bright blue eyes behind them. His nose, flat and broad with wide nostrils, seemed to balance his angular features.

John, the crackshot marksman of their team, was directly to the right of Ben, his arm slung around the team leader's neck. He had a bronze complexion and high cheekbones that complimented his narrow features, and a greek nose, he might have been the most traditionally handsome member of their team. John always kept his jet black hair buzzed down as far as possible to keep from looking like a "mushroom head" as he put it.

The team vehicle specialist, Sandoval, crouched on John's right side, elbows resting on his knees. Were he standing one could see that Sandoval shared John's height down to the millimeter. His square jaw and a heavy brow always made him look terribly severe—even when smiling on his happiest of days. Like Ben he was very pale, but Sandoval's hair was blond and airy like the fuzz on the skin of a peach. His formerly arrow-straight nose had been broken just hours before the picture, marking the beginning of its new hawk-like structure.

Desi, John's sister and the self-proclaimed team practice dummy, leaned on Sandoval's shoulder with her legs crossed at the ankle and her other arm curled into a confident fist pump. Despite her lacking desire to compete in professional video games, she always wanted to help the team by practicing with them. Much like her brother she sported a bronze complexion and dark hair. Her features were sharp save for the rounding of her cheeks. The slight upturn of her nose added an element of uniqueness to her already substantial traditional beauty, though her perpetually steely eyes warned that she may very well gut you for saying so.

Mid, Team Light's interdictor, stood slightly behind and to Desi's right. Taller than all but Ben, he met the requirements for more than one definition of broad. His round face frequently hosted a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek. A mess of curly black hair sat atop his head like the ribbons on a christmas present. AJ distinctly remember Mid wearing glasses, though in this particular picture they appeared to be missing—likely lost in the chaos beforehand.

AJ found himself looking at his own face next, young and cleanly shaven with a dark brown mop as wild as Ben's. The bright green eyes he saw in the photo did not resemble those he saw in the mirror everyday—at least they hadn't for a long time. As the shortest male in the group at five feet and eight inches, he stood at the same height as Desi. Stocky, broad-shouldered, and barrel chested, even back then AJ boasted a formidable strength. John once described him as a "bully dog breed: short, powerful, and square." He really did have to admit that his head _was_ rather large and square.

Finally, he came to the one who roped them into the whole multidimensional macroverse mess. Rebecca Chambers had supposedly been a fictional character from the Resident Evil series of survival horror video games, but a bizarre twist dumped her unceremoniously in their lives one day. Like the others beside her, the porcelain-complexioned medic smiled at the camera, content with their victory despite the insanity preceding it and the implications left in its wake. She leaned ever-so-slightly towards AJ; he could never quite figure out if she did so to be closer to him, or if she had just been trying to stay in the frame.

Despite the lot of them looking roughly the same age, Rebecca certainly appeared the youngest. In fact, that appeared to sum her up fairly well. Nothing seemed to _phase_ her, it simply rolled off of her like water. She remained rock steady and unflappable through even the most heinous of circumstances. Not to say she didn't have those humanizing moments of fear and despair, but she always overcame them—and seemingly without lasting effect.

"Stupid fucking kids," AJ hissed, dropping the photo in his lap. He tipped his head back until it came to rest against the back of the sofa and stared up at the blankness of the ceiling. They had been such idiots. What right did a group of inexperienced kids have trying to save the damn world? The fact that they managed to avoid getting themselves killed outright had been sheer luck beyond comprehension. That they _actually_ managed to pull it off must have been somewhere in the realm of one in _billions_.

Even now, after years of mulling it all over time and again, AJ still didn't quite understand _how_ these things had come to happen. Something about multiple tandem universes grinding up against one another to cause erosion in space-time. With enough erosion bits and pieces began to leak or slip into other worlds—Rebecca Chambers being one of the first. Things were more complicated than that, however. Changes like that affected the universe on a fundamental level, forcing the natural forces to retroactively make changes to preserve continuity, and therefore, stability.

Ask any passerby what Resident Evil was, and they'd tell you they never heard of it. Why? Because as the two universes began to collide, aspects from "their" world entered "ours" and vice versa. People simply accepted certain fiction as if it had always been fact. Interestingly enough, any touched directly by what Team Light had always referred to as simply "an Event" were immune to this rewrite.

AJ remembered pouring countless hours into the Resident Evil games, his favorite being Resident Evil: Zero. He must have played through them at least a dozen times, every nook and cranny of the game memorized perfectly. Then slowly, all traces of Resident Evil began to vanish. First the movies, then the books, the websites, the art, and finally the games themselves.

It almost seemed like a form of universal immune response, repairing the damaged continuity and removing all traces that there had ever been a damage, save for a few "antibodies" which _did_ remember. In a way, AJ suspected that their intact memories were intentionally left that way—more a hunch than anything supported by evidence.

Knowing what was out there, and knowing it could happen again made AJ's team feel the need to be ready. Who would be there to stop it next time if not those who could remember that it happened at all? Suddenly, their little band of gaming misfits felt responsible for the whole world and decided to shoulder the mantle of protecting it from cross-dimensional threats. After all, they did just defeat the latest in a series of villainous Umbrella Corp plots, what could be worse than that, right? They had been such naive fools!

AJ massaged his temples, wishing he could stop thinking about the past. It would be futile now that he opened the can of worms. No matter how hard he struggled to redirect, he could feel the thoughts squirming around in his head begging for attention.

Growling, he jumped to his feet, sending the photo sliding to the floor. Ignoring it, he stepped past the table and began to pace along the far wall. The frustration mounted as his mental timeline marched on, highlighting his greatest hits on the poor life choices reel.

If they were going to make a habit out of "saving the world", they would need the skills to match. Sound logic, unless of course you considered just what kind of sacrifice that required. The kind of training and experience required to harden yourself for the worst the world-and-beyond had to offer _changes_ people. They didn't understand that then, not well enough.

Each of them had chosen their own way of going about honing their skills: Desi immersed herself in martial arts, John invested a lot of time and money in marksmanship training and survival classes, Sandoval joined the police academy, Mid decided to go the mad scientist route and developed traps and demolitions techniques, Ben had opted for a more well-rounded approach and took assorted squad-based leadership programs, and even Rebecca—already a trained S.T.A.R.S. officer—devoted herself to studying the phenomenon that changed their lives forever.

AJ sneered as he considered what his own bright idea had been. At the age of eighteen the Team Light pointman had enlisted in the United States Army. After basic training and a year of service, Uncle Sam slapped an E-4 Specialist insignia on his uniform and moved him to a frontline unit. There, he saw real combat action and, in the words of his superiors, "displayed exceeding courage under fire, risking life and limb to rescue injured comrades before re-engaging the enemy forces and providing cover for extraction of the wounded."

He stopped pacing and turned to a medal case on the wall nestled between two pictures of his parents. At the very top glistened a gold five-pointed star on which a laurel and smaller silver star were superimposed. It was the only medal of the three in the case that he felt proud of—the one he earned for saving lives rather than taking them. The others? He simply kept them as a reminder.

Every passing moment he stared at the medals he could feel the guilt gnawing deeper into the pit of his stomach. AJ turned away sharply, frowning hard. Delta Force—every kid who had ever played military shooters _fantasized_ about being a Special Ops badass. So when they posted a recruitment notice how could AJ _not_ try?

Oh God, how he wished he'd failed. Through sleepless nights and burning tears did he wish they had rejected him.

The grittiest, ugliest, bloodiest, most morally ambiguous side of war; _that_ was Delta Force—or at least the operations _he_ had participated in. AJ quickly discovered that even those not enthusiastic about taking life can be exceedingly proficient at it. Throughout his tour of duty he did more than a few things he wasn't proud of, but for a while he could cope. The whole point of these trials were to prepare him for the possibility of more Events and the threats they brought with them. So long as he could justify it as a casualty of the greater good.

Then came the tipping point, the one thing he could never justify.

All awareness of his limbs faded away as vivid images forcibly invaded his mind in a confused jumble, like a youtube video layered over itself fifty times and played out of sync. He heard yelling, splintering wood, gunfire, and hysterical sobbing on loop. It played louder and faster until he could no longer stand the sensory overload.

A seemingly malapropos jingling added its timbre to the offensive chorus, and the ordeal came to an abrupt conclusion. Consciousness snapped back into his skull like a rubber band released from a long draw. Rivulets of cold sweat beaded across his face and forehead, and he could feel even more trickling down the back of his neck, too.

AJ wiped the moisture away with tremorous hands before he realized what had shaken him free of the episode. An old house phone jingled in its cradle on the wall, the corded handset jostling around from the force of its own ringing.

At first, AJ could not accept what he heard. Nobody had called the house phone in _years_ —hell, he didn't think there were any people alive who still knew the number. When it continued to jingle impatiently, he attempted to start towards it only to find that his legs refused to cooperate. Every muscle in them felt tight and stiff as if he'd been clenching them too hard.

"Come _on_ dammit," he said, willing his legs to move as he waddled awkwardly towards the kitchen. AJ grabbed the handset from its cradle as soon as it came within his reach and pressed it to his ear.

"Hello?" AJ's voice crackled into the receiver, taught from nerves. He pulled the phone away from his face and pressed a fist to his mouth, coughing hard to clear his throat. After a moment of silence on the other end he tried again. "Hello, is someone there?"

"AJ?" the caller said. "Is that you?"

Recognition struck him like a sledgehammer to the chest, stealing his wind and rendering him unable to respond. AJ would have known that voice anywhere beyond a shadow of a doubt.

"AJ?" the caller queried again, sounding hesitant.

"Desi?" A question he already knew the answer to.

"Yeah, it's me," she said, and AJ's mouth went dry. "Something's come up and," she hesitated, uncertainty coloring her tone. "I really need your help."

"Where will _you_ be when you get your call to higher purpose?" An evangelical infomercial squawked on the television in the background. "Don't hesitate, make things right and answer the call!"

END CH1.


End file.
